


Playing Dirty

by Jenwryn



Category: Death Note
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-03
Updated: 2009-05-03
Packaged: 2017-10-02 08:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenwryn/pseuds/Jenwryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt's a good driver, really, but sometimes Mello's distractions are just a little bit too much...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing Dirty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tierfal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tierfal/gifts).



> Okay... this story was originally written as comment porn. No, really. I'm the kind of person who writes 1000+ words of porn in the comments of her online-intercontinental-BFF's journal. Tierfal is therefore completely to blame, seeing as it in was her journal, and she was the one who linked us to the song "Animals", by Nickelback, which immediately corroded my brains and made me want to write a "Mello-blowjob-Matt-driving-whoa" story; which was _exactly_ what she'd known that I would want to do, haha. But, anyway, we thought I should share the end result. To spread the smutlove. Y'know. XD

_You're beside me on the seat  
Got your hand between my knees  
And you control how fast we go  
By just how hard you wanna squeeze  
_  
~ Nickelback, 'Animals'.

*

Matt's a good driver. Really. In fact, he's an excellent driver; it's one of the things he prides himself on. And his car is his baby, his pride-and-joy, and so he doesn't really see what's wrong with the fact that he actually likes to pay attention to the art of driving when, you know, driving is what he's currently doing.

Which is perhaps one of the reasons why the noise that slips from his mouth is so utterly undignified, when he feels a slender hand sliding across his thigh. Of course, one of the _other_ reasons is probably more based upon the fact that that hand is sliding with _intent_, and Matt can feel his face heating up as those wandering fingers settle themselves against his crotch and begin to _rub_.

"Mello," says Matt, in what he hopes is a stern-but-warning kind of voice but which, unfortunately, comes out more like the opposite. He glances sideways at the young man beside him; Mello is smirking like a cat who's caught a pigeon, and is the process of pulling his other hand back away from the car radio. Well, damn. The pretty bastard had used Matt's momentary mind-blank to break the rules, and change the music channel.

"Mel, you bitch, turn it ba-"

But now Mello has an _interesting_ look on his face, one which effectively makes Matt lose his words.

The blond licks at his bottom lip and says slowly, "You're right, Matt, I played dirty... but it does make me think... there are lots of things we've never done in this car of yours..."

The hand against him increases its pressure.

Matt turns his eyes back to the road, and tries to return his focus to what he's doing. Driving. Yes. Driving. See, pedestrian. Slow down. Speed up. Orange lights, slow again, just a bit. Green lights, go. Sure. Easy. Focus. He can get pissed at Mello about the music in a minute or two, once he's recollected his brains and- oh, _God._

There's a sway of blond hair against Matt's face, and then Mello is at his ear, his breathing too warm and somehow utterly indecent, and he's murmuring, "I really don't think God wants to be drawn into this conversation, do you?", and both of his hands are busy now, and Matt's belt buckle has failed in its job of keeping his hands free of wandering clever fingers and, "Oh _God_." This time he's aware that he's said it aloud ‒ and he must have already said it out loud, because even Mello can't read minds ‒ and Matt grips his hands tighter on the wheel when Mello begins to work him with skill, much too slowly, teasing, taunting, until Matt wants to moan at him to move those fucking hands fucking faster... except that he's trying to act cool, trying to act as if this weren't happening, trying to act as if they weren't in the middle of the city, and as if Mello weren't giving him a handjob, because that would be just wrong, wrong, and _oh if a cop pulls him over now they're both so screwed, and not in a good way. _

"Mel, I'm trying to drive. Mel, we're in public. Mel, we're gunna have an accident, it's bloody dangerous. Mel, you can't, people will se- oh-god-Mel-no-_yes_-"

Mello's mouth is on him now, warm and wet and insistent, taking him in whole, and letting go again with an intoxicating stroke of tongue. Matt knows that he shouldn't look down, but it's like telling himself not to breathe, because he _has_ to, and, sure enough, Mello is looking right back up at him, smirking like the bloody devil himself, and he has one of his hands playing with Matt's balls in a way that makes Matt want to just throw his head back and _groan_.

"You're right," Mel's saying, his eyes turned away again, now, and his head leaning into to lick at Matt with long, slow strokes, as if his tongue had taken the place of fucking punctuation marks, "but nobody can see me if I go _down here_." And it's true, innuendo aside, half sprawled across the seat like he is. Matt thanks the universe for old-school bench-seats, and then instantly wonders whom he can contact to retract that thanks because, _Christ_, he hasn't seen the last dozen metres of road, and the next dozen aren't looking too good either.

"Have to ‒ have to stop ‒ stop the car," Matt's saying, at least he hopes that's what he's saying, but Mello simply digs his nails into Matt's thighs, raises his head long enough to say, "Don't you dare, if we're late Near will kill us," and Matt has just long enough to think that what they're doing right now might just kill them too, if he ends up driving them up the back of a fucking bus, but then he's got orange lights up ahead, and his foot on the brake, and the car's out of gear, and every last inch of semi-coherent thought goes into begging that the red lights last forever and _ohmyfuckinggodMellofuckYES..._

  
Someone, somewhere, is leaning on their horn, and someone is yelling at them to bloody_ move it already!_, and the woman on the curb is staring at him distinctly red-faced, when Matt regains enough of his mind to swear himself, apply clutch and accelerator and gear stick in all the correct orders, and get them the hell out of there.

Mello, of course, is laughing his pretty arse off.

And wiping his mouth, then licking his fingers clean, one by fucking one.

Matt glares at him, as best as he can glare, given that his body seems to have floated away at some point, and he's having trouble with his general co-ordination skills. "When we get to Near's HQ," he advises in a slow, dangerous voice, when he's caught his breath, "we are taking the elevator."

"Mmm?" Mello asks, sitting back up, brushing his hair from his eyes, and kissing at the sweet spot on Matt's neck. "What about it?"

"Nothing much," says Matt, putting his foot down, changing up a gear, and then taking his hand from the stick, and sliding it along the leather of Mello's pants' leg. "Except that the elevator is going to have an unfortunate malfunction while we're in it. We're going to be stuck there for quite a while. And you're just going to have to hope that Near goes in for soundproofing in his buildings, because I am going to have you screaming my name until you've forgotten your own."

"Such a cheap line," Mello complains, but his voice is purring.

Matt just smirks.

And changes the channel back.


End file.
